xvii.

ISADORA TREMAINE HAD BEEN MISTAKEN when she had assumed that the King of Angria-burly, hard and built like a principle warrior-would seat himself in the comfortable and warm carriage he had summoned for the journey.

Instead, the only occupants in the beautifully spacious and colorfully cushioned carriage, were Isa herself, her son and Lucy, as well as a trunk full of every important belonging of Isadora and Archie that they may need for the few weeks of their stay in Angria, and a stringed sack full of Lucy's own belongings.

They had set out almost as soon as she had said yes, and the airy exhale of relief King Alexander Casimir had breathed against her facial skin had lit her heart in it's warmth. But she hadn't had the leisure to dwell in it, for he had instantly separated and strode on over towards his guard to talk business and to ask him to fetch the carriage.

Behind her then, Lucy had appeared, quickly ushering Isadora inside as she was changed into a fresh gown for the journey, her travelling cape draped over her and a warm coat grabbed for Archie, who had still been saddled on the stallion Augustus' back in the chateau gardens.

"You look flushed," Lady Tremaine's words had eclipsed in her senses then, when her mother had appeared at the door of Isa's chambers, watching the commencement of the haste of departure with stoic grey eyes.

Isa hadn't been able to tell if the woman had acquired all the information by listening in to her conversation with the King outside, by interrogating Lucy as the maid had sauntered upstairs to pack, or by the King himself. But judging from the lady of the chateau's hard demeanor and iron posture, Isa had a hunch that King Alexander Casimir had spoken to her mother, when she herself had been occupied with the fairy godmother-and not in overtly polite terms.

"Do I?" Isadora had breathed, hardening up her walls, not wanting to let her mother's envy-sweltering inside the woman's sharp grey eyes like molten iron-destroy what she had been feeling inside.

It was an ever ongoing battle, Lady Tremaine viciously pressing her to seize every single benefit that she saw in life-claiming always the guise of a mother thinking of only the best for her daughter, and then going red with envy when Isa was bold enough to agree and brush herself up against what her mother had initially wanted her to have. Mon Dieu, Isadora thought, keeping her eyes on herself in the looking glass as she fixed her hair, adjusting pins, it must be a raging, ruthless battle inside Lady Tremaine's frame every single day.

But that battle translated outside, Isa knew that all too well. That fight and bloodshed always translated outside, spewed out through sharp and brutal words directed at her-if it was envy that sliced at Lady Tremaine's heart, then the victim was always Isadora.

"We too shall join you in Angria in two days time."

"Remember, daughter, if nothing comes of this," The woman spoke then, a single sharp nailed finger reaching upwards and gently tugging out a loose curl from behind Isa's ear to frame her face.

She sucked in a breath, she hadn't realized her mother had ventured this close to her.

"You will be ruined. And if that happens, do not take solace in the fact that you have the chateau to return to, because you don't. I will not have our family name tarnished beyond repair."

Isadora Tremaine exhaled an airy laugh, shaking her head as she tried to muster up her indifference. Her indifference was her only support-beside the love she had for her four year old son-in life, because it kept her pain away, it barred it from consuming her.

"Goodness, mother," Isa's eyes flashed as she bore them into Lady Tremaine's icy grey ones, refusing to back down.

"What a sentiment. I dare say even the bard Shakespeare would not be able to conjure up a farewell as despicably warming as yours. Give me leave to revel in it, for I had always believed that even the town streets have a much more attractive charm than a roof cursed with your company."

Lady Tremaine's eyes hardened, her thin lined lips twisting.

"Do you speak of the same streets, in the corners of which, your dear friend Miss Ruby Alderidge spread her legs?"

Isa's heart stilled, her fists tightening at her sides as she refused to break eye contact with her serpent of a mother. She refused to show that the words had an effect on her, she refused to show that she was altered, but inside her heart ached on the spot where a wound had lain-dormant until prodded.

"Those same streets," Lady Tremaine smiled then, a hateful, spiteful smile as she eyed Isadora's present form from top to bottom.

"Upon which the boy you love so much, was conceived?"

Isa blinked, her nails slicing through her palm in her closed fists as the blow landed. Try as she might to resist, the words cut her through, and she slipped and let it show on her face.

Lady Tremaine's features relaxed into a satisfied position, pride flickering underneath the woman's facial skin.

"No, mother," Isadora let out then, butchering her way through her hurt as she forced a smile on her own face.

"The same streets where you had found yourself, after our father's death. At least Ruby Alderidge, poor as she had always been, would've had a mattress or sheet underneath her, arms to hold her-regardless how temporarily, and my son was born into the warm embrace of someone who deeply loved him."

"But you, mother?" Isa tilted her head slightly, her tone innocent and sharp. "How had you even fed yourself? I distinctly remember father's sister keeping Lucinda and me in while she threw you out."

"I wonder if your own legs had stayed together in such a circumstance while wealthy men merely passed you by."

Lady Tremaine's features pinched themselves together as blatant hatred and anger broke through her face. But Isa already knew what was coming then.

She instantly gripped her mother's hand by the wrist before it could slap her across her face, holding the woman's bony hand forced to a halt in between them.

Isadora bore her eyes into the woman's.

"I will no longer live under this roof, mother, as per your request, so do not make this a returning habit-lest, God forbid, you start missing me."

In Lady Tremaine's horrified gaze then, flickered every time her hand had come in contact with Isadora's face.

Isa could almost feel her face throbbing again with the familiar pain. Ruby Alderidge had helped her out of that cycle, stealing her away from the chateau when they were only girls, so that she was no longer around when her mother had needed to vent out her frustration-always translating from her envy-unto the eldest Tremaine daughter.

Sweet Ruby.

The woman yanked her hand back from Isadora's hold, and with a last look thrown at her, grabbed her skirts and exited the chambers.

Isadora breathed in tightly. What was this, if not a farewell spoken in a language only the Tremaines could understand?

And then, as Lucy had helped adjust the cape on Isadora's form-cautious of everything the maid had watched transpire, her mistress had realized that she had been turned out of a place that had never been her home in the first place-it had only been the only place she had fully known.

Strangely, despite her earlier assumptions, being turned out had felt like a burst of relief. Strangely, even though Isadora knew she would have no where to go if these few weeks in Angria ended the way she dreaded, she felt a sudden gush of relief.

This relief would choke her, she knew that. This same relief would slither like a serpent around her neck if her stay in Angria ended and she realized that the King didn't want what she wanted. The serpent would choke her then, and none of the fairy godmother's spoken words would be able to resonate. The old woman's musings would become the blathering of an enemy, uttered in the same tone as that of Lady Tremaine's venom laced one.

Yet, still, here she was now. Taking a chance herself as she gave the King a chance in return, having left the chateau that had been her home for the last time in her life, just because he'd invited her to stay at his palace for a few weeks to celebrate a wedding that had become a thorn in the back of her mind-a daily reminder of what she needed but couldn't have, a daily reminder of her own shortcomings.

Her heart ached slightly. Did he realize how much a simple yes had cost her? She had no home to go back to should this endeavor fail. But she would rather die of thirst or drown in quicksand than tell him of that fact. She would rather part with her tongue than mention the cost of everything she had paid in life, for those price tags had always been meant for her. She didn't need them to be scrutinized by others-she couldn't have that be the case.

In a way, she was grateful King Alexander Casimir was keeping his distance at present, giving her room in the carriage while he was mounted on his stallion and rode ahead of the carriage with his guards and groomsmen.

For if he had been seated in front of her in this space, the price she had paid by agreeing to go with him would have become clear on her forehead-her delicate veins twisting and turning to word her fears and spell them out on her skin for the scrutiny of the foreign royal.

Perhaps he would be rightly disgusted then, as the depth of the difference between them would become clear to him in a heartbeat.

Isadora's heart twisted in on itself at the mere thought of the King being disgusted by her. His scent was still in her nose, the warmth of his hand ingrained in the skin at the back of her waist, his breaths pushing against the skin at the nape of her neck as he had sighed in relief when she had said yes.

His impressions refused to leave her, and she suspected that she would forever remain a map that he created places in, her mind scrambling to remember each location as she named every nook and every cranny-every land on her-that he had traced with his eyes, his breaths.

Out of the four hours of the journey, three had passed. Two of which Isadora had spent sleeping comfortably in her cushioned space. Archie was still sound asleep, beginning his fourth hour of sleep, his head in her lap, his body lengthwise on the seat and covered in soft coverings that King Alexander Casimir had provided to each of them. Lucy slept soundly too, having gone to sleep only an hour ago.

Outside the night sky was slowly melting away as blue light pierced the sky like ink spreading out thinly and slowly. On the other side, over the plethora of tall trees crowded at the side of the road the carriage was treading on, Isadora could see the blood red sun beginning to rise to dominate the sky.

Her heart soared at the sight of the new day, recognition slowly swirling in her. She was leaving Toulouse, if only for a few weeks. Just for these few days, she was going to be somewhere else, having perhaps a fresh start at life in some ways.

She looked at Archie dozing in her lap, running her hand gently through his curly hair, running her palm softly against his warm and fair forehead.

This would be Archie's first time ever travelling outside of Toulouse, and she could only hope it would be a happy one for him. For both her own sake and his, she silently prayed that it was fruitful.

The Kingdom of Angria was a marked part of the world when the carriage ventured close to the entrance.

The road that led past the forest and barren paths the carriage had travelled for the past four hours, now led the party straight into a thicker road that swept graciously in between an active, bustling village, with colors of the foreign kingdom draped over every shop and establishment that the vehicle passed by.

Banners shaped like tiny triangles were strung like butterflies frozen in the air, on lengthy strings that crisscrossed overhead the village, starting and ending on lamp posts littered with knots of said strings.

Isadora observed the village as they passed, her hand gently holding the curtain of the small window to a side as she peeked.

She didn't know what she had imagined, but the foreign village in this foreign kingdom looked much like.. her own back home. Except for the patriotic display of the new kingdom's colors, the village activity much resembled the boisterous one she had been privy to herself back home in Toulouse, as she had made her way past crowds, her bonnet held on her head with one hand as her mind had led her to the shops she frequented, checking off errands one by one in the list she carried in her mind's eye.

The carriage jostled past on the cobblestoned road, and the noise outside made Archie wake up as the boy rubbed sleep out of his eyes, holding himself on his elbows on Isa's lap, light eyes fixed in a daze outside the window she had been looking out of.

"Good morning darling," Isadora murmured, pressing her lips in his hair as she kissed his head.

"Did you sleep alright?"

He had only gotten four hours of sleep, which wasn't at all comparable to the eight hours she made sure he got nightly. Still, she intended to make sure he got the rest of his hours after they arrived at King Alexander's palace.

"Mhm," The boy nodded, tearing his eyes away from the window to look at her, his head still held above her lap as though he was still contemplating if wanted to be awake or not.

"I had dream about a black horse, mama," Archie mumbled, his eyes sparkling. "Can I ask Zander if I can pick a black horse for myself?"

"Do you think he has black horses mama?"

Isadora blinked, Archie's name for the King weighing in her senses. He had probably told her son to call him that himself, still, years of her etiquette and nobility training being ingrained in her made her feel seconds away from correcting her son. But she had to hold herself back.

"I think he might," Isa managed with a soft smile, not knowing what else to say.

Archie beamed at her, his smile taking over his face as he straightened himself, his mother's affirmation about the prospect of a black horse making him finally decide to wake himself up fully.

She thought of the King's gift to her then, a horse-a cream mare. What was it that he had described it as? Strong and gentle. It had reminded him of Isa. A sudden heat enveloped her neck at the thought.

The mare was being taken to Angria with them, under the charge of a capable groomsmen King Alexander Casimir had called in, the animal as much a guest as the party inside the carriage were.

Isadora hadn't even had a chance to look at the mare up close yet, to search for everything in that beautiful animal that had resembled her, in the eyes of the King.

"When we arrive at the King's palace," Isa smoothened Archie's hair gently, pushing past her thoughts. "You need to sleep some more, alright?"

"But mama, the horses!"

"They will be there when you wake up, darling," Isadora calmed him, caressing his cheek. "I promise they will be there when you wake up."

-🥀-

If the sight of King Reginald's palace was like a sharp diamond perched in between a cacophony of hills, the sight of King Alexander Casimir's palace was like an emerald cast from the depths as it stood hard and tall-a colossal display of power and daunt cloaked in shades of dark greens and blacks, ready to dominate both the land and the sky it stood up against.

It looked like something out of a gothic fairytale, a wealthy and sophisticated sort that rivalled the taste of literary icons like Dracula himself.

At least, that was how Lucy had described it as she gaped at the structure when it first came into view, now growing taller and bigger by the second as the carriage jostled on.

Isadora Tremaine had known that the maid she had hired off of a street in town on the eve of Cinderella's wedding to Prince Charming, was partly educated-if not in the matters of etiquette or nobility or even accomplishments that were demanded of those in possession of wealth. The girl was well read, having spent many summers of her eighteen years of life reading in the town library, the owner of which, happened to be a distant relative of the girl's.

She wasn't entirely what Isa had had in mind, but still the girl had proved to be more than sufficient, to the point now that Isadora didn't think she wanted anybody else taking care of Archie at all.

Though the girl's description of the foreign palace matched up relevantly from a far, up close, the castle had widened into the swathe of warm emeralds, reducing it's daunt just as much as the intimidating colors had lightened. Up close, to Isadora atleast, the castle looked like something from the book she had read to Archie a while ago as a bedtime tale, a story about a girl, her rather lovable dog, a yellow brick road and a very intriguing pair of red sparkling pumps.

Lucy straightened herself up once the carriage entered into the palace grounds, a cacophony of colors blooming in everyone's periphery-courtesy of the widespread gardens that sported a hue of colors and species of flower beds upon what seemed to be acres and acres of land around the palace.

As was the norm and efficient courtesy of lands far away, the climate seemed to have changed already once the party had been into two hours of their journey. Isadora had noticed the frost melting away into colors, the lack of icy dew perched on top of nature, dampening the dark greens. The winter fog had cleared up as well, no longer hanging onto the horizon and barring the eyes.

The Kingdom of Angria, it seemed to Isa, was not much favored by the entity that was winter. For their lands had been left as they were, though she could sense still a subtle chill in the air, and was only able to confirm it when she saw some of the townspeople and bystanders walking past grabbing onto thin coverings draped around their frail forms, while others chose to go without them entirely.

The carriage came to a halt then and Lucy started gathering the blankets they had all nestled in to a side, helping Isadora unravel from the one she had draped over herself at the start of the journey.

Before she knew it, Isa's heart started hammering again, her psyche dismantling itself from the state of dormancy it had been in for the duration of the journey, now that the said journey had ended.

She readjusted her cloak and pushed the hood down, a gush of soft cool air washing her head after the warm journey. She was thankful then that her hair had remained intact, despite her various shifting and position changes.

While Lucy gathered Archie's toys and put them quickly back into the trunk and locked it up again, Isa adjusted Archie coat, gently running her fingers through his hair as she combed it to make him look presentable. Not that he didn't look presentable, only a tad.. unruly from his nap.

Footmen were already positioned outside the carriage as the door to the vehicle was pulled open by the front most man, and steps were unlocked as they appeared underneath.

Lucy got off first, efficiently placing her footing on the ground as she raised her hand to assist Isadora.

Isa bit back an exhale of relief, for the footmen all-though dressed in the hard colors of the kingdom of Angria-seemed to be having small bearskin hats as part of their uniform and not the kingdom's monogrammed gloves, as was the custom for the Kingdom of Valence.

Archie was the last to get off, when Isadora turned to attempt to help him, letting go of Lucy's gloved hand. But the boy hopped off by the aid of the stairs, making it evident that no assistance was required in the face of his excitement.

Isadora turned her head to search for the King in the small crowd that formed up ahead in the path, a distance away from the carriage. A few guards, as well as.. a duke? Or perhaps a nobleman of some different title-were all gathered to receive the King and his own guards that he had arrived with.

Isadora saw his form in glimpses amongst the uniformed bodies of these other men. She saw him speaking to the nobleman, a smile on his face as his cheek dimpled and his teeth shone. She saw the sparkle of his chocolate brown eyes as they rounded up to address another man, amongst the glittering of the badges the other men wore, and she just wanted them all to move out of the way.

The King's and the guard's horses were all taken charge of by stablemen, and Isa saw her gift horse, the beautiful white mare, being taken away too.

She swallowed thickly. Watching it being led away like the King's horses, she wasn't sure if the white mare felt like a gift to her anymore. She would've liked to observe it up close at least, or perhaps touch it, before it was taken away and hidden in foreign stables that being a guest, she wouldn't ever know how to access on her own.

"Mistress," Lucy spoke then, getting her attention as Isadora turned to glance at the maid, who gestured at the entrance of the palace, where, at the end of the row of footmen, stood a very regal looking woman, with familiar brown eyes pinned straight at her.

She was short, with a curvy and abundant form covered in a glittering emerald green dress that complimented her sandy coloured skin tone. She looked to be about well past her fifties. Brown hair streaked heavily with silver was piled elegantly on top of the woman's round face, amidst which, a delicate golden crown sat sparkling faintly.

It didn't take Isadora long to realize that she was the Queen Mother, the former Queen of Angria-the mother of the present King, Alexander Casimir of Angria.

Lucy held Archie's hand and followed behind as Isadora made her way towards the Queen Mother, feeling the woman's gaze fixed intently on her as she approached, stopped when she had deciphered a natural considerable distance, and curtseyed as properly as she could in spite of her anxious heart.

King Alexander Casimir had mentioned briefly the health of his mother, that night at the ball when he had implied that Samuel Harrison was aiding her. But at present, the woman looked as though sickness hadn't touched her a day in her life.

"Oh, do get up child," The woman spoke then, a hearty lilt in her heavy opera-esque voice. "I'm far too impatient for these lengthy curtseys. Call me vain, if you will."

Slowly, Isadora lifted her face as she straightened herself, allowing her eyes to carefully meet the Queen's. She had thick and high cheek doused in rogue, a matching color of tiny lips perched in between her abundant cheeks. Her eyes were the shape of small almonds, set on her face like the final important touches a jeweler would give to a piece of jewelry.

"Miss Isadora Tremaine," The Queen spoke then, tasting Isa's name on her tongue as her almond shaped brown eyes scrutinized Isadora's form with care and precision, so much so, that it made Isa feel overtly self-conscious, even though stares and gapes from people in town back home in Toulouse had never had such an effect on her.

King Alexander Casimir must've told his mother about her, for the woman to know Isa's name. At the chateau, he had said he would introduce her to his mother, but clearly that was to be only a one way street.

"Your majesty," Isadora managed, her voice steady.

"When my son insisted I make some changes to my plans for celebrating my nephew's recent marriage," The woman started, getting straight to the point as her brown eyes sparkled in Isa's with a careful mischief.

"I admit I was ecstatic, for my son has rarely asked for me to host a lady on his behalf."

Isadora's stomach tightened, her scattered psyche unable to form a conclusion to the woman's musings. She was adept at reading people often times, but only when her heart and mind seemed to work in correlation. At present though, Isa's senses were an anxious mess like entangled yarn that she didn't know how to unravel quickly.

"But now, upon seeing you, I must admit I am.." The Queen tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as intrigue flashed in them.

"Mother!"

A third voice interrupted as the woman's previously pondering face broke out into a display of unaltered happiness.

King Alexander Casimir jogged up to the Queen's side and embraced her into a hug as she held his face, kissing both his cheeks in turn before they separated.

"Mother, I trust you had a comfortable journey back?"

"Oh yes," The Queen smiled. "Most comfortable."

Then she gestured with a hand towards where Isadora stood, behind her the forms of Lucy and Archie.

"I seem to have met your guest without your supposed introductions, Zander."

There was a tease in her tone, instead of a reprimand, and though her son smiled at the statement, Isa's heart constricted some more as her mind hung onto the words that the woman had been about to say to her. She felt an intense discomfort rage inside her, her heart and soul on edge as she tried hard not to berate herself. The Queen had obviously formed an opinion of her upon merely seeing Isa for the first time, and the said opinion had already sounded like something Isadora would rather not hear.

Mon Dieu, should she have come here at all?

Isa had refused to attend Cinderella on her wedding day, claiming to herself that she would rather not be somewhere she was wanted only conditionally.

But what about this? Was this better? Her leaving with her son to be in a foreign Kingdom for a mere few weeks only because one person wanted her to be there, knowing full well that she has no home to go back to anymore once these weeks were over.

This couldn't be better, at least at present, because all Isa could feel churn inside her was regret.

"This is the lady I had spoken to you about, mother," The King spoke then, a grin on his face as he fidgeted slightly with a sudden.. shyness? Making an informal introduction as quickly as he could.

"And, Miss Tremaine, please allow me to introduce my mother, Queen Ariana Casimir."

Isadora met the King's eyes briefly, before dropping her gaze to the ground at her feet and curtseying for the Queen again.

Despite being the Queen Mother, the King had addressed her as Queen, which meant-Isadora quickly deduced-that she still carried her title and probably the stately duties of it too, in the empty space of her own son's Queen of course.

"Your majesty."

The woman didn't tell her to stop this time, and Isa thus took the duration of the curtsey in her own hands, setting it to default.

"And what of your adorable entourage?" The Queen gestured at Isa's skirts, where Archie-having broken away from Lucy's hold-was holding himself tall, though his eyes were curious as he inspected the new face in front of him.

Isadora rested a hand onto his head, holding him gently at her side. "This is my son, your majesty."

"I'm Archie," The boy spoke then, his voice confident as he made his introduction as formally as he could.

The Queen smiled, her initial reserved smile deepening into a genuine one as she looked at the boy.

"Isn't he adorable?" The statement was posed as a question, though the woman needed no answer as she beamed at the boy, before lifting her gaze back onto Isa.

"You must be so tired from the journey, my dear," The Queen started then, a warm look on her face that confused Isadora. Had she not been just about to express her displeasure at the girl's presence before her son had interrupted?

Forcing herself, Isadora tried to search for dislike in the woman's face-but despite her earlier words, she found nothing of the sort. Either there was nothing at all, or the Queen was as adept at hiding her emotions as Isadora had always been. Except, Isa had never disguised her face with another emotion to hide behind, if that was at all what the woman was presently doing.

"Come along," The Queen mused, gesturing forwards into the castle past the entrance upon which they had all presently been standing.

"I shall take distinct pleasure in showing my son's guests to their rooms myself."

"Thank you, mother," The King spoke before Isa could think to say anything at all.

Then he turned to look right at her, his gaze warming into her eyes as though the contact was all that he had been wanting for the past four hours of their journey.

"Rest, Miss Tremaine," He uttered, his baritone steady as he pinned his arms behind his back, being careful to maintain a proper distance in between them in front of his mother.

Isadora's stomach clenched slightly, it suddenly felt as though some things had been forgotten. The way he had held her waist, exhaled in relief at her neck, gifted her a horse, held her close to him and told her not to refuse him because he desired her-all in a wavering voice.

It suddenly felt as though all those things had been forgotten by him, just because he was maintaining a distance. Isa reprimanded herself inwardly for coming to that conclusion. Why was she acting like this? Like a petulant girl when she clearly understood propriety and manners etched into nobility. Mon Dieu, hadn't she been made to learn all these things all her life?

"I look forward to seeing you again when you are refreshed."

His words were proper, no waver in his voice as he spoke each syllable with perfect composure. But it made Isadora feel oddly hurt, because he was talking to her like he probably talked to everyone else. Had she gotten so used to his frank quips? Had she gotten so used to his straightforward compliments and bold actions towards her that she'd feel this way just because he addressed her with propriety in front of his mother?

Isadora bit the inside of her cheek. She was behaving like a petulant girl.

She wanted to say something, but didn't know what as he broke their gaze and looked at Archie by her skirts.

"And you, Archie, don't think I've forgotten about the horses," He grinned at the boy, much to Archie's own delight. "We'll scour each horse and find the perfect one for you just as soon as you're rested."

Then, a nobleman called out to him, and just like that, the King of Angria turned towards his subject as the latter led him away, engaging him into a conversation about one matter or the other.

Isadora watched him walk away, his ringed dark hand pinned behind his back.

"Now, dears, let us proceed. You must rest before dinner tonight."

The Queen floated to a side as she guided them forwards, and Lucy scurried to hold Archie's other hand while Isa held onto one, gently squeezing her son's warm skin in her palm as the King disappeared round a bend and they all fell in step behind the Queen as she led the way.

It was then that Isadora realized that maybe she was a petulant girl, far from only behaving like one. How could she be anything but, when compared to the thirty year old King Alexander Casimir of Angria?

Had he realized that in the duration of this four hour journey? Had he even thought about her? Isadora didn't want to know the answer to her question. Anything was better than the King thinking of her with as much the element of demeaning as she was feeling for herself. It was better he didn't think of her at all.

But how could she expect it of him? How dare she expect anything of him at all when she was the one who had said yes and agreed to come. How could she feel anything except for whatever that he would make her feel?

By agreeing to come, she had given him power to make her feel anything that he wanted, even just by a look. And ultimately, it seemed that she had given his mother that power too. And now, as Isadora walked this grand hallway inside the castle, she could only swallow down her regret.

Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe, she shouldn't have come.

***

A/N:
I dreamed about this scene today so i wrote it exactly like i saw it<3 happy tuesday! can't believe we're down to the last month of 2023!! where does the time go?? also, my law school midterm exams start next week, yikes